


Ill

by Nemoinis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Breathplay, Drugged Sex, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 16:08:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4752557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemoinis/pseuds/Nemoinis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The room is mostly dark and smells of camphor, menthol and stale sweat because Dean's been sick. Too sick to hunt, too sick to research, too sick to do anything but sink under the steady pressure of Sam's body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ill

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has some mildly dubious consent overtones, but should not be read as rape or non-con. 
> 
> This story was previously published on Livejournal in February 2008.

The room is mostly dark and smells of camphor, menthol and stale sweat because Dean's been sick. Too sick to hunt, too sick to research, too sick to do anything but sink under the steady pressure of Sam's body. 

He asks (pleads) for Sam to stop but Sam only pays attention to the way Dean seems to beg for the touch of his mouth with the slow undulation of his hips, the soft arch of his belly following a whisper of Sam's breath. Hears Dean's broken whimpers at the easy way his body opens under Sam's fingers as background noise. Because Sam can count on one hand the times that Dean has been this sort of sick; not injured, not almost dead, just weak and muzzy from maybe (definitely) too much cold medicine but Sam has learned to create his opportunities where he can, because that's what Dean has taught him. And he's so tired of the hard, untouchable Dean that cracks around the edges, sharp and brittle like flint. This Dean is soft and bends wherever Sam pushes, no matter how hard, and doesn't break.

Dean's sweat is bitter on his tongue, like cyanide and orange peel but Sam ignores the faint buzz in his mouth because he won't (can't) stop tasting Dean's feverish skin; licks and sucks at Dean's nape, his ankles, the membrane between his fingers until Dean cries brokenly, then moves to Dean's face. Tries to calm him with soft kisses to his eyes, butterfly touches to his temple and murmured promises against Dean's mouth while he breaches his brother's body with his own. 

It's still a fight though, Dean may be slow(er) and weak(er) but he doesn't play fair and he's a biter; Sam almost comes from the feel of Dean's teeth on his collarbone, pushes Dean's jaw up (ignores the hot scrape and loss of skin) and back with his arm and stutters his hips. Dean wheezes and says his name softly then goes still, forgets to breathe maybe, turns liquid underneath Sam. Says his name again, wet and lewd and his teeth are on Sam again, sinking into his forearm and this time Sam cries out. 

Dean curls his hips, cants them just so, and Sam slips in further (too deep), afraid to move, falters. And suddenly Dean is baring his teeth, flipping them over with one heave, Sam's throat beneath his palm now. Sam whimpers. 

Dean is flushed, pupils wide with drugs, black with fever. Settles himself more firmly against Sam, licks the blood from his teeth and moves. Rides Sam like a cowboy breaking a wild horse, knees tucked in tight, free hand steady on the headboard, other steady on Sam's neck. Sam doesn't fight him, just feels him pulsing around his cock, slips a hand down the sweaty crease of Dean's thigh, underneath, and he's touching the tight rim of Dean's body as he moves. Dean groans (so pretty), tightens his grip and Sam can't breathe. Black sparkles on the edge of his vision but he won't (can't) stop and the last thing Sam remembers is the hot splatter of Dean on his chest and he's coming apart of the seams. 

Morning slips into afternoon and Dean sleeps until early evening, stumbles to the shower. Sam sits quietly by the bed, orange juice and pills (2 more than the night before) on the nightstand. Dean drinks the juice, ignores the pills and rummages through his bag. He tosses a pair of leather cuffs on the bed next to Sam and looks at him, one eyebrow raised. Sam smiles.


End file.
